


Order Fire

by tessykins



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cook writes fic, Hand Jobs, Kitchen Sex, M/M, and they fuck in the dry goods locker, that AU where Flint's a chef and Silver's his shitty prep cook
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Order fire” is a call that lets a cook know to immediately start cooking a dish because there is only one course on the ticket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a vaguely Season 1 AU where Silver is still a manipulative little shit and Flint still has hair. The subtitle for this is, “In Which Flint Is Exasperated _All the Time_ and Silver Uses It for Sexual Gain”. There is only one course on this ticket.

The kitchen echoed like a church in the mornings. The stainless steel surfaces gleamed dully, the cutting boards fresh and clean. They were hours of quiet promise, hinting with anticipation at the chaos that would come as the kitchen filled up for dinner service. But for those few hours, it was hushed, just the two of them prepping for the day. 

Flint worked on new dishes, on recipes. His station was immaculate and organized, even when the chef was himself covered in sauce to the elbows. The mornings were a time of strange foods and entrancing new smells. Silver lived for the incredibly rare times Flint would feed him a bit of a new dish, an indulgent smile on his face. His food was modern American, leaning on strong Caribbean flavors, sweet and spice. Silver was, at best, a subpar cook but even he knew Flint’s food was something special.

Silver prepped the most onerous tasks, brought in produce from the gardens, took in deliveries, and mostly kept out of Flint’s way. Nothing Silver did was ever good enough for Flint, and Silver had such terrible trouble not pushing back when the chef yelled at him. Flint was just so fun to rile up. Getting yelled at by Flint was practically a sexual experience, and Silver liked to save it for special occasions. 

Silver stiffened as he felt Flint’s presence loom up behind him. A thrill shot down his spine; before he’d met Flint, he’d never experienced this dichotomy of being afraid of someone that he also wanted to fuck him so badly. He kept picking through the herbs on his station, hoping Flint would move on if he didn’t acknowledge him. No such luck. Flint reached over his shoulder and rifled through the greens. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Picking cilantro, chef.” Silver struggled mightily to keep his voice respectful. It was difficult, but he thought he’d almost managed it.

“No, you’re not,” Flint growled. “This shit is dirty, and full of stems. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s surely not that. Show me what else you’ve done.”

Silver turned to his speed rack, pulling out the sheet trays of produce he’d pulled from the garden. Flint looked over his work and made a frustrated sound through his teeth. He ran his hands over a flat of strawberries, of which half were underripe and half were bruised with overhandling. “I honestly don’t know why I let you in my garden. You have no respect.”

“That’s not--”

“I wasn’t finished.” Flint raised his hand and cut Silver off. “The plants you harvest, the fish we catch, the meat we break down. You have no respect for it. Every bit of it gave its life so we could make something beautiful. And you’re handling it like canned goods from Sysco.” He looked at Silver with hard, glittering eyes.

“I can do better, chef.” He wouldn’t, of course. That was too much hard work. All he needed was to put in a solid six months, maybe a year at Walrus, get Flint’s name on his resume and then he could get himself a nice cushy catering gig. He didn’t need to excel here, only survive long enough to get free.

“You’ve been here, what, four months already? I keep waiting for you to do better. And you keep just fucking up.” Flint crossed his arms, flexing ropy forearms striped with old burn scars. “You are _extraordinarily_ lucky that when Eleanor Guthrie asks me for a favor, I’m willing to grant it, even if it means hiring little shits like you.”

And that was true enough. Silver had gotten the job because he’d blackmailed Eleanor into asking. But there was no reason for Flint to have kept him on--it was his kitchen after all and he was a notorious taskmaster. But Flint spent enough time surreptitiously staring at Silver’s lips and ass that Silver knew exactly why he still had a job. Not that the repressed, perfectionist asshole would ever admit it. Silver was more than happy to let him look. Silver liked being liked, especially by powerful, charismatic men with strong hands and piercing gray eyes.

“And here I thought you hired me for my amazing good looks and cooking ability,” Silver said. He tilted his head and grinned, loving the way Flint’s gaze dipped to his neck.

Flint snorted. “Your family meal gave half our staff the shits.”

Silver grinned. “So it _was_ for the first reason.”

Flint’s face hardened, and he clenched his jaw. “I hired you because one of my partners asked me to. She said you had some potential.”

“Oh, you think I’ve got potential, then?” Silver knew, of course he knew, that he had no talent at all for cooking. The fact that he’d even managed to persuade Eleanor to believe even a little of that was more a comment on his persuasiveness than anything else. But God, there was nothing like riling up Flint. The chef was attractive enough, but he was absolutely incandescent when he was angry. 

“No,” Flint snarled, mouth twisting, “I think you’re a manipulative little cunt and quite possibly the worst fucking cook I’ve ever seen. You _torture_ your food. You have no manners, no focus, no direction. If I had my way, I’d fire you on the spot.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You want to fuck me too much to get rid of me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Flint said with a scowl. “You do realize I’m your boss, right?”

“Yeah,” Silver said with a flirtatious grin, sidling up to Flint. “My boss who’s dying to bend me over in the dry goods locker.”

“Jesus Christ,” Flint repeated, sounding dazed. There was a reluctant fondness to his frown that gave SIlver sudden hope. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“You’ve got that right,” Silver said with a soft laugh. He carefully placed his hands on the prep table on either side of Flint’s hips, the stainless steel cold against him. It was bold, a little dangerous. He always pushed at Flint’s barriers, flirted with him to the point of annoyance, but tried to keep his hands to himself.

Flint looked at him, suddenly considering. “Are you serious right now, Silver?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been serious about anything in your life.”

Silver nodded, conceded the point. “Not serious then. Intent. Sincere. Resolute. Fucking horny. Take your pick.”

Flint growled. “I should take _you_.”

“You absolutely should.”

Flint stared a moment, then shook his head. Silver’s heart flip-flopped and disappointment sat leaden in his stomach. But it wasn’t the first time he’d made his move on Flint and it surely wouldn’t it be the last. “Not here; we make food here,” Flint added and a flare of triumph shot through Silver.

Flint brushed him aside. Silver trailed behind him, feeling a little off balance. He hadn’t actually expected that to work. A tiny part wondered if he might not have bitten off more than he could chew. Flint glanced back over his shoulder, heat simmering in his eyes. Silver caught his breath and grinned. Too much or not, he was down for the ride.

Flint bowed and waved him inside the locker in an exaggerated show of courtesy. Silver resisted the urge to give him the finger. The locker was, of course, supremely familiar to Silver. He spent long portions of his day in here, organizing the shelves and putting away dry goods. He knew the shelves of lex-am’s filled with flour and sugar, the rows of ten cans like the back of his hand. He was intimately acquainted with the smell of four and cardboard and metal. But now, with Flint crowding in behind him and the door swinging quietly shut behind them, it was a strange place, exciting and new. 

He shifted from foot to foot, trying to find his bravado again. “I was just kidding about bending me over in the locker,” he said. 

Flint gave him an aggravated look. “Why are you still talking?”

Silver chuckled. “Are you going to tell me there’s better things I can do with my mouth? Because that would be unbelievably cliche of you.”

“You little shit,” Flint said in exasperation. He grasped the back of Silver’s head, eyes dark and intent. “Shut the fuck up.” He kissed Silver, hard and slow and perfectly controlled. Silver made a surprised little moan and swayed into him. Assured of his welcome, Flint turned the kiss into something overwhelming. His lips were hot and chapped, his tongue demanding as he fucked his way into Silver’s mouth.

Silver hiccuped a tiny laugh between their mouths. Flint kissed exactly like he’d expected--fantasized about, really--forceful and completely assured. Flint shoved him back, following him across the locker with fast, bruising kisses. Silver fell back before the onslaught, dizzied and overwhelmed. 

He stumbled, knees caught on the fifty-pound bags of rice behind him. Flint grinned razor-sharp and tumbled him back. The bags slid and slithered beneath the two of them as Flint followed him down. 

They wrestled over the shifting surface, Flint’s hands demanding as they wrapped around Silver’s waist. Silver kissed him hungrily and pressed bruising fingertips into his shoulders. His bandana slipped down his forehead; Flint snatched it off, tangling his hands in Silver’s wild curls. Silver pulled the black apron from around Flint’s neck, untangling the strings around his waist. He threw it away, tearing open Flint’s black coat, desperate to get at skin. Flint rucked up Silver’s jacket, heated hands rough on his skin. He pressed a harsh, biting kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Silver arched up into it, thighs sliding open around Flint’s hips.

It was overwhelming, the way they tangled together. Flint was hard and strong over him. He smelled like sweat, like butter, like smoke, like the bresaola hanging in prep. Silver caressed his bare chest, the ginger hair and freckles and pale skin of him. There was so much of him for Silver to get his hands on. 

Flint yanked open Silver’s jacket, the frogs pulling free with whispered pops. Flint pressed against him, the coarse poly-blend of their coats sliding uncomfortably against his nipples. Silver whined, the heat and pressure of Flint surrounding him. Flint slithered down his body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his sweaty skin. 

Flint grinned up at him, beard scratching his lower belly. Silver reached down and ran a shaky hand through Flint’s disheveled hair. Flint kept eye contact as he pulled Silver’s checks down his legs. He looked down, gaze like a physical touch. His eyebrows raised as he looked back up at Silver. “Are you always naked under your uniform?”

“The kitchen’s hot,” Silver said, like that was an obvious reason. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Flint said. He was still shaking his head as he wrapped his hand around Silver’s cock. Silver gasped and stared down. He pushed into the slow slide of Flint’s hand, the twist of his wrist; there were faint yellow-red rings around Flint’s fingernails, stains from the gochujang sauce he’d made earlier.

Flint sucked bruising kisses into Silver’s collarbones, ginger beard scratching. Silver’s hands tightened in Flint’s hair, Flint’s mouth slipping lower. Dragging teeth and lips over his stomach, Flint bruised a mark into Silver’s hipbone. He grinned up at him, teeth and threat, and then opened his mouth over Silver.

“Fuck!” Silver shouted, thrashing and clutching. 

Flint laughed around him, lips and tongue, hot and silky wet and overpowering. He sucked hard and fast, with a need that was almost violent. He pulled off with a sloppy slurp. “God, you--” he slurred. He shook his head, bent back to Silver. “You're terrible, the actual worst. But then you look up and smile so hopefully, and your eyes are so blue, and all I want is to tangle my hands in your curls and force to you knees. Fuck you til you lose that infuriating smirk.” He pressed a forearm across Silver’s hips, effortlessly holding him down. Silver whined and cursed at the effortless show of strength. Flint’s other hand wandered, roughened fingertips rubbing over his sack and then dipping lower.

“Jesus, fuck,” Silver whined and shoved back, fighting against Flint’s hold on him. Flint rubbed a fingertip over the tight clench of Silver’s hole. Silver let his legs splay open, heels locked around Flint’s back. Flint shouldered his way between Silver’s thighs, hitching one knee higher on his muscular back. He swallowed Silver down whole. Silver bit his trembling lip, whining low in his throat.

Flint sucked him, slow and intent. Silver had expected him to do this like he kissed: hard and possessive and with an edge of anger. But Flint was focused, almost--almost generous. It was unexpected and almost too much. He pressed his fingertips into Flint’s shoulders and tried to hold on.

Flint pulled away, sliding off inch by slow torturous inch. Silver almost cried out, almost grabbed Flint by the hair and forced him back down. 

Flint nipped at the juncture of his thighs. His teased a fingertip against Silver’s opening, pressing suggestively. “Yes?” he asked, eyebrows raising. 

“You have to ask?” Silver twisted his hips down. Flint raised his eyebrows again. “God,” SIlver gritted out. “Yes, fucking yes.” 

“Good,” Flint said. “Now hand me some oil.”

Silver flailed behind him, banging his knuckles on cambro’s of flour and sugar, grabbing at anything he could reach. Flint slapped his hands away. “Not the pistachio oil, idiot. Do you know how expensive that shit is?”

Silver glared down at him. Flint was disheveled--hair a wreck, chest heaving and lips swollen red--but still aggravatingly composed. “If you’re so specific about what you want, then you get it.”

Flint reached up above Silver’s head, sliding their bodies together, Silver’s legs falling around his waist. Flint grunted as he pulled down a gallon of canola oil. Silver squawked and jumped as he poured a small puddle across his stomach. Flint laughed at him and smeared his hands through the oil. He rubbed a hand up Silver’s chest to caress his throat. Silver went breathless and still, arching his neck. 

Flint pressed a slick finger into him, the slow stretch burning and so, so good. He could feel knife calluses sliding against his rim. Silver bowed his back, pushing into it, heated and impatient.

“Harder, goddamnit,” he said, “I’m not going to break.”

Flint laughed. “ _Now_ is when you try to convince me you can do better.” He slipped in another finger, pushed harder and faster. 

“Fuck you. Another,” Silver moaned. 

“God, I want you.” Flint pressed his head to Silver’s neck, mouth grazing his skin. He slowly withdrew his fingers, then slammed three back inside him. 

Silver arched up into Flint’s body, clutching at his back. “Yes, fuck, just like that.” Flint thrust into him, slow and hard and steady. Silver threw his head back, eyes fluttering shut, hips rutting into Flint’s hands. Sweat rimed his skin, turned the space between them hot and close and slick. Flint wriggled his pants down his hips; planted a knee on the shifting bags of rice, the bracing the other on the floor. He thrust against Silver with all his strength, taking Silver’s mouth with bruising kisses, their cocks grinding together hard and slick.

“You should fuck me,” Silver whined. “You should fuck me right now.”

Flint huffed. “Sure, I’ll just run down to my locker where I keep my condoms and lube.” Silver gave him a hopeful look and Flint heaved a put-upon sigh. “I don’t actually keep that at work, you idiot. I don’t make a habit of fucking my cooks.”

“Am I that special to you?”

“Do you never fucking _shut up_?” Flint twisted his fingers sharply, deep and pressing.

Silver gasped and arched. “No,” he stuttered out, “but keep trying.”

Flint kissed him, aching, ravaging. His fingertips rubbed Silver’s prostate, wringing a sob out of him. “Oh God, oh God,” Silver clutched at Flint like he was his only anchor. Flint played Silver with complete control, but cracks were showing around his edges. He pulled back, his forehead against Silver’s shoulder, just far enough to watch his fingers move inside him. Flint stared at him like he wanted to devour him, like he’d wanted to devour him forever. 

Silver hovered on the edge, too much but not enough. He wanted, he needed _more_. He reached down and wrapped his hand around the both of them. Flint grunted and shoved into his grasp. Silver jerked them off slow and maddening, reveling in the way Flint twitched against him. He may not be any good with a knife, but he was very good with his hands. Flint jerked up into his grip, their cocks sliding smooth skin against each other. 

Flint pressed his fingers up into him, thrusting hard until Silver saw stars. He was helpless to do anything but fuck back into it, moaning hoarsely. Bright slick heat was building in his gut, cresting like a wave. He whined and jerked them both faster. His world was nothing but heat and sensation, but damn it if he wasn’t going to drag Flint along when he came.

Flint groaned against his skin, teeth nipping at Silver’s collarbone. He grunted, body rolling hard against him, heat splattering between their bellies. Silver caught his breath, hanging suspended, and followed him over.

Flint collapsed against him, crushing the breath from Silver’s lungs. Silver laughed breathlessly, stroking his hands down Flint’s heaving back. Flint panted against his neck like a dying man. “That was--amazing,” Silver laughed. “We should do that all the time.”

“Five minutes,” Flint snarled, and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. “Five fucking minutes of silence from you, that’s all I ask.”

“You should try harder next time. And you know you love it. It makes you think about how to shut me up.”

Flint stared at him for a long moment, and then his gaze dropped to Silver’s mouth, and Silver knew he’d won. He grinned victoriously.

Flint threw up his hands in exasperation and got up to get dressed. Silver stretched on their makeshift bed, the slither of rice under his back as sensuous as the fucked-out warmth in his bones. God, but that had been good. If this was the result, he was going to get Flint angry _every day_. 

His chef coat hit him full in the face. Flint smirked at him and followed it with his pants. “Clean yourself up. We’ve still got work to do before dinner. I’ve got fish on ice. You’ve got greens to keep murdering.”

“Brings a whole new meaning to ‘service’, eh, chef?”

Flint glared. Silver loved it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long service, Flint takes Silver home with him.

The rest of the morning thrummed with a sated tension. Silver was sore, pleasantly fucked-out, as he returned to his pile of herbs. Flint went back to methodically breaking down fish with practiced swipes with his side towel, the bone-cracking ease of the filet knife. They were both silent, but what they’d done hung in the quiet spaces between them.

Flint mostly ignored him for the rest of the day. Silver had pretty much expected that, wasn’t too offended by it. He hadn’t exactly expected cuddles and declarations of love from a man like that. Flint was hard at work on a new dish for the menu, a focused frown between his eyebrows as he broke down lobsters and tasted a ginger-scallion sauce. Everything had fallen away for him, everything but the food beneath his hands. 

Gates came in the side door an hour later, and Flint barely looked up. Billy followed a few minutes later. Silver waved enthusiastically at both of them. Gates walked past him with a distracted nod, Billy gave him that slightly offended look he always wore when Silver tried to be too friendly and ignored him. The rest of the line crew had filtered in slowly after that--drinking industrial sized coffees, joking about last night’s service--the laughter slowly turning into determined purpose as they set up their stations. 

Flint walked down the line, inspecting each cook’s set-up, checking if they needed anything for service, asking about their days. He was shuttering himself away, compartmentalizing, donning his armor for the night until Flint was gone and there was only Chef. 

Except.

Except that Flint stole glances at him all day, hot and covetous. His hands twitched when he looked at Silver. He rubbed at the hem of his jacket, as though remembering stains on his belly. 

That powerful man, that king of the kitchen, full of control and arrogance; looking at Silver like he wanted something. It gave Silver a tight little shivery thrill in the pit of his stomach. He liked having that power over Flint. 

Silver kept his head down, picking herbs and chopping veg with more than his usual concentration. Billy even gave him a disbelieving look as he raced through the tasks on his prep list--and doing better work than his usual, if he was being honest. All that time, the thought of the morning burned in his stomach like a slow-smoldering coal. It was a bit of knowledge that belonged only to him and he hoarded it closer than gold.

Of course, the problem was that he wanted more. 

He’d gotten what he’d wanted, and a part of him had expected that to be that. It wasn’t just that Flint was a good lover--he was--or that Silver was horny--he was. He’d seen a part of Flint that no one had seen, that no one else had possessed. He wanted more, wanted to know him down to the bones until everything about him belonged to Silver. It probably wasn’t healthy. 

The clock ticked over to five o’clock, the doors opened, and the breathless anticipation of prep turned to the adrenaline of service. It picked up slowly as the first orders rolled in, then started pouring in like rain. The cooks bent their heads. DeGroot frowned over meticulous salads of ripe fruit and garden vegetables. Pans shook in Billy’s enormous hands as he seared off delicate filets of fish. Gates stepped in to help out Logan on the enormous wood-burning grill, charring fresh-caught whole fish and braised pork belly. Flint stood at the head of the line at expo, casting a critical eye over every plate, tweaking a sauce here, a sauce there. His voice boomed out down the line, cutting through the busy storm of activity, calling out orders and directing the runners. The line worked together like the parts of a moving machine, an electric current of adrenaline keeping them all moving together. It sparked from one to the other as they called out times and coordination. 

Silver worked around the corner with Muldoon in prep, shucking oysters and clams, shelling conch. The buzz of adrenaline happened around him but never quite touched him. His shift ended in less than an hour and service itself was a stranger to him. The most he saw of the action was when he ran to each station to restock them. 

Flint grinned at him as he ran by, a fire in his eyes. Silver nearly tripped over his feet. Yes, that; he needed more of that.

Maybe if he were still here at closing, he could convince Flint to go out for a drink, and then convince him to take him home… Okay. That seemed feasible. His persuasive powers had already worked on Flint once today. He’d have to work a couple extra hours, but his days off started tomorrow, and if he could get his hands on more of Flint...Silver shivered. It would be worth it.

The night wound down slowly after only two turns of the dining room. It was a Sunday night in Nassau, and after an early dinner all the tourists would decamp to Senor Frog and the Hard Rock Cafe for pina coladas and tequila shots. A few locals would come in later, regulars mostly, but the main action was over. 

A collective sigh seemed to move down the line as the cooks relaxed, uncoiled, stretched. Muldoon ducked around the corner to check in with each of the stations and then went to organize the walk-in. 

Flint stormed around the corner into the prep kitchen. “Muldoon said you were still here. You're never here this late. Why the fuck are you still here?”

Silver grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows.

Flint threw his hands up in disgust. “Jesus fucking Christ. Fine! Just go across the street and wait for me there. I can feel you staring at me through the wall,” he said and stomped away.

“Are you saying you find me distracting?” Silver called after him.

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen!” Flint called back.

Silver laughed delightedly. He wiped down the stainless steel, swept the prep kitchen. He changed quickly, filled with anxious energy, said his goodbyes to the crew. He put an extra little sway in his hips as he walked out, knowing that Flint’s eyes were on him and knowing that Flint would hate himself for looking.

The air was humid as he stepped out of the restaurant, but cooler than the close heat of the kitchen. He looked up at the bright golden lights of the city, blurring the stars in the night sky. It was strange to be leaving after dark; his shift usually ended before sundown. 

The streets were filled with tourists. Drunk co-ed’s looking to get drunker, sunburned families dragging tired children back to hotels. He dodged the unruly lot of them and slipped down a quiet side street.

Max’s place hinted at a palatial manor, all columns and broad step, but the place had been a bar almost as long as there had been a Nassau. The sign for The Inn creaked on its hinges as Silver opened the door and slipped inside.

Max looked up from wiping out a tumbler when Silver bellied up to the bar. “You are here late, for you,” she said, not quite a question.

“I'm waiting for someone.”

Max propped her elbows on the bar, cupped her chin in her hand. “You, John Silver, are actually waiting for someone, not forcing them to wait for you? I must know.”

“Can't say. Top secret, very hush hush.” Silver looked around the bar. There's was no one he knew personally there yet--a crew of daytime dishwashers from down the street, a meat rep, a few persistent drinkers--but that would change once restaurants started to close. Max’s place was the most popular industry bar in town. Everyone came there after work.

“Mmm, you know how I love a good secret.” Max leaned back and pulled him a draft. “But you are not so secretive as you think. You are starting a romance with someone you shouldn't.”

“Romance? Who said anything about romance? I'm just looking to get laid.”

Max gave him a pitying glance. “Sometimes I wonder if there is any love in your heart.”

“Love’s a myth!” Silver laughed and drank. “It’s what we tell ourselves in between trying to find sex.”

Max shook her head. “You are a cynic, John Silver.”

“And you’re a helpless romantic,” Silver grinned. “Speaking of forbidden romance, what about that butcher from Ranger…”

Max huffed and turned away. “She hates me.”

“She did kick the shit out of those guys who were harassing you.”

“She didn’t do that for me.” Max sighed and Silver could see her folding up her feelings and tucking them away. The armor was back in her eyes. “And my problems are not the current topic of discussion.”

Silver grinned. “Come on. I definitely distracted you from prying for almost a minute.”

Max frowned. “You do not wish to talk of your date because you know I will disapprove. I disapprove.”

Silver sighed. “If I get another round, and you pour us some rum, will you stop judging me?”

“No, but I will shut up.”

Max poured out two shots. They clinked glasses and shot the rum back, burning Silver’s throat and warming his stomach. He sighed and relaxed, letting the coil of stress in his back spool out. He was still on edge, still wound up, but the urgency had abated a bit. He no longer felt like he was going to climb out of his skin with impatience.

Max tilted her head with a quiet smile. “I would not have credited it, but this job seems to suit you. You look well.”

Silver grinned. “It's certainly preferable to slinging buffet at the Hilton. And someday soon...a cushy catering gig. Making real money.” He sighed. “And then freedom; from grease, from insane hours, from insane chefs and crazier line cooks, from all this.”

Max smiled at him, and looked like she wanted to pat him on the head. “You say that, but I think we both know you are lying. You like this life, much more than you are willing to admit.”

Silver scoffed. “I admit, it's not as hellish as I expected when I first blackmailed Eleanor into getting me the job, but I certainly don't enjoy it.”

He looked up and took in Max’s clenched jaw and averted eyes. Shit. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring her up.”

Max waved away his apology. “I am done letting Eleanor Guthrie hurt me. In any way. You are my friend, John Silver, occasionally my partner in crime. If you cannot speak freely with me, I’m letting that bitch win.” 

Silver nodded, feeling like a shit. “I’m still sorry. She’s a bitch, even if she’s useful.”

“I will concede that point.” Max chuckled, though it sounded forced. “You know, John, no one forced you to become a cook.”

Silver scoffed. “Because there are _so_ many high-paying opportunities for a man with a rap sheet and next to no job skills. This is the only thing I know how to do.”

Max smiled crookedly. “The job we pulled last year begs to differ.”

Silver shook his head. “And the ton of shit that landed on us afterward? I’d rather not go through that again. Crime’s too much work. I was working twice as hard to make the same kind of money I’m making now. No thanks, I’m done with that.”

Max ducked her head and laughed. “It almost seems like you have become a responsible member of society.”

“Don’t say that,” Silver whined. “I’m still a charming rogue, even if it’s only when I’m not on the clock.”

Max pulled two more drafts. “Cheers then, to jobs that pay the bills, and nights that keep us sane.”

Silver chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked glasses and Silver sipped at his beer. Slowly, he thought, he didn’t want to get too drunk. Max smiled and drifted back to the other end of the bar, serving up drinks and doing her side work. Silver fidgeted, sipping his beer and waiting.

He checked his phone. It was past ten now, when service had ended for most restaurants in the neighborhood. The kitchen crews would start showing up for their post-work drinks any time soon. Silver had a feeling Flint wouldn’t want anyone in the industry to see him picking up one of his cooks. If he didn’t show up soon, he wasn’t going to show at all. 

Max watched him with dark eyes from the end of the bar. She approached him. “You’ve been nursing that one beer for almost an hour, cher. Are you sure your lover is coming?”

Silver threw her a wide grin despite the slow sinking in his belly. “How could he resist me?”

Max’s look was pitying as she shelved a rack of glasses. “I don’t like to see you hurt. Maybe this is for the best.”

Silver scoffed at her. “You’re talking like I’ve been stood up already. I told you I was waiting. He’s going to show.”

“Who is?”

Max looked up and her mouth clicked shut in surprise.

Silver grinned and looked up over his shoulder at Flint as he swept up to the bar. He was wearing that great coat that Silver was sure he wore because he thought it made him look more impressive, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. He smelled faintly of grease and steel polish. Silver beamed up at him. He should never have doubted his own persuasiveness. “You,” he said.

Flint shot him a half-hearted glare. “Ready?”

“Very,” Silver said with a grin, dropping a bill on the bar. 

“Let’s go,” Flint said, with just a touch of impatience.He took Silver by the elbow and lead him toward the door.

Silver waved over his shoulder at Max. Her disappointed face delighted him to his core. Oh, he would be hearing about his poor life choices later, but it was worth it to see the look on her face, to surprise someone who knew most everyone too well to be surprised.

Flint easily flagged down a cab as soon as they stepped out into the street. It was downtown after all; cabs infested the place. Flint ushered him into the backseat, eyes tight but with a hand at the small of his back. Silver hid a smile, sliding across cracked vinyl seats. Flint settled next to him, rumbling out his address to the driver. 

It wasn’t a long drive, pleasant. The driver had his windows down, the balmy night air pouring in. He listened to reggae, turned low enough to be a pleasant hum. Silver relaxed in his seat, sure now that he was getting what he wanted. 

Flint was unexpectedly tense, not uncomfortable, but wound tight in the way Silver had been before he’d taken that first drink at Max’s. Silver hadn’t exactly expected Flint to be all over him as soon as they were in the car, but nor had he expected the way Flint barely made eye contact with him. 

Flint cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We’re getting in a dozen lamb legs on Thursday for the large party this weekend. You’re going to have to help Gates break down and braise them,” he said and looked away. Silver followed his gaze and found himself staring at the back of the driver’s head. Good Lord, was Flint _shy_? That was almost too good to be true. Silver would have a field day with that. Later, though, when Flint didn’t seem as likely to dump his ass on the street as take him back to his place.

“Of course, chef. Gates already did the ordering and walked me through what needs to be set up.”

Flint nodded. “These are big customers, so I’m counting on you--”

“--not to fuck up like I usually do?” Silver cut in with a winning smile.

Flint glared back at him. “Not in so many words, but yes.”

“Yes, chef.” Silver kept up the grin but decided it would be pushing his luck to throw in a wink.

Flint fiddled with the ring on his right hand, flexing his fingers like he longed to be using them. Silver’s eyes dropped to them and he flushed, thinking of those calloused hands on him this morning. He wanted them again, wanted them now, driver and Flint’s shyness be damned. Flint met his gaze, a crooked smirk and dark eyes. Silver’s breath caught and he found himself leaning forward a little despite himself. 

“Just turn left here,” Flint said calmly to the driver, looking away from Silver like nothing had happened. Jesus, how could he be so calm? It was infuriating.

The cab coasted to a stop in front of a weathered but well-kept clapboard house on a quiet street hung with Spanish moss. Flint leaned across Silver and opened the door. Silver was breathlessly aware of him, the smell of him, the curve of his cheekbone, the brush of his arm across Silver’s chest. The door popped open and the lights came up. Flint passed some bills to the driver as the two of them slid out. 

Flint led him up the creaking steps and through the scratched white door. Silver followed him in eager silence. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d expected of Flint’s home, but the place seemed to fit the man. The library in the living room, the china teacup next to the worn armchair. Silver glanced through to a clean and well-equipped kitchen. The place had a still echoes of a place not often used, but it fit Flint like a discarded set of clothes.

The tension that had clung to Flint since he’d shown up at the bar finally seemed to fall away from his shoulders. He sighed quietly and stepped into the kitchen. Silver followed, not quite sure of himself in this, Flint’s most private sanctum. Flint took off his coat, and threw it across the chairs at the kitchen island. He pulled a bottle of Mount Gay and two tumblers from the dark wood cupboards. “Drink?”

“Sure?” Silver answered. It felt like the ground kept shifting underneath him. He wasn’t sure what to do with these glimpses Flint kept giving him of a normal person, not an iron hard chef, but he wanted more of them.

Flint poured out a generous amount and slid the tumbler across the island to him. He sipped at his, humming happily. Silver took a deep swallow, letting quality rum burning all the way down. Flint grimaced he watched him throw back the rest. Silver grinned at him. “I’ve had my fill of drinking for the night. There’s other things I’d rather be doing.”

Flint gave him that crooked smirk again, the one that made Silver’s stomach lurch and cheeks heat. He threw back his own drink. “I need a shower,” he said abruptly. He started down the hallway. Silver stared after him, not sure what to do with himself. Flint glared back at him. “Well, are you coming?”

A grin broke across Silver’s face like the sunrise and he scampered after Flint. 

Flint was already pulling off his shirt in the bathroom, the shower dialed up to full blast. That was a bit of a disappointment--Silver had been really looking forward to yanking that shirt off himself. But it was worth it for the view, Flint’s freckled back and scarred chest, his corded arms. Silver lurked in the doorway, taking in the view as steam slowly curled up around the ceiling. Flint turned around, his hands on his belt buckle. He quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there, gaping and letting all the hot air out?”

Silver grinned. “Coming, definitely.” He closed the door behind him, pulling his t-shirt over his head. The bathroom wasn’t small, but they stood chest-to-chest without much effort.

Flint huffed disgustedly at him and started to unbuckle Silver’s belt. Silver jerked into the motion, his hands finding their way to Flint’s biceps. Flint undressed him efficiently, but every movement drew his hands against Silver’s skin, skin that was slowly becoming needy and wanting. Gooseflesh rippled across his arms despite the wet heat. Flint stepped out of his own pants and under the spray. 

Silver stepped into the other end of the shower. He took a moment to savor the sight of Flint dipping his head under the spray, pushing back his wet hair. God, that was beautiful. He stared for a long moment, getting his first real look at Flint’s body--fumbling in the dry goods locker wasn’t the best opportunity for ogling. From the scars on his thick chest, to the soft cock nestled in a thatch of ginger hair, to the muscular legs, to the long toes, Silver drank it all in. 

Flint smirked at him. “If I’d know you were just going to stare all night, I’m not sure I would’ve made the effort to bring you home.”

That galvanized Silver into action, just like Flint knew it would--and didn’t that burn, letting Flint manipulate him, even now. Silver lunged across the shower and demanded a kiss from Flint. 

Flint yielded to him with a low hum, lips soft and opening. His mouth was as hot as the water pouring down around them. Flint buried a hand in his hair, the other clutching tightly at his hip. He spun Silver so that he was under the spray, thoroughly soaking him. 

Silver pulled away from the kiss, breathless and and gasping. “I’m beginning to think this whole ‘shower’ thing was a ruse to get me naked and wet,” he said, rubbing slowly against Flint’s hip.

“It is a good look on you,” he hummed in agreement. “But I was serious. I stink, and so do you.”

Silver ran his hands down Flint’s wet chest. “I object to that,” he said with mock affront. “I’m as fresh as a daisy.”

Flint gave a him disbelieving look, as though he had never known a greater idiot existed before Silver. He sniffed, mouth making a little moue of distaste.“Maybe a daisy whose deodorant wore off about halfway through his day. You mostly smell like grease.” 

“You know, some of my dates have told me they liked the way I smell after a day in the kitchen.”

Flint snorted. “They clearly don’t have to live with it. I smell grease enough on myself, I don’t want to smell it on you.”

He popped open a big bottle of soap, a strong scent of peppermint instantly pervading the shower. Silver hummed and leaned into it as Flint ran soapy hands over his torso. “I still think this was a ploy to get your greedy hands on my slick body.”

“Didn’t have to try very hard,” Flint said distractedly, nuzzling into the crook of Silver’s neck. His hands moved to Silver’s back, soap suds sliding down his spine. Silver soaped his own hands and used that as an excuse to get his own greedy hands all over Flint’s wet body.

Flint ran a hand tortuously slowly up Silver’s chest, fingertips skirting his nipple, running up the length of his neck. He tilted Silver’s chin up and kissed him. It was lush and luxurious, hot like steam curling around them. Silver moaned and swayed into him.

Flint kissed him harder. He pressed Silver against the wet tiles, their bodies sliding slick against each other. He hitched Silver’s thigh around his hip, opening him up. Silver threw his head back and moaned. He ran his hands down Flint’s back, fingertips dipping into his crease. Flint ground against him with a powerful, suggestive roll of his hips. He was half-hard against his belly and Silver wanted to get his hand, his mouth, his _everything_ around that as soon as he could. 

“I can't stop thinking about the noises you make,” Flint growled. “I want you to make them again and again. I want you to make them _louder_.”

Silver groaned and immediately wondered if that was one of the sounds Flint meant. “You keep talking like that,” he said, voice high and strained, “there's only one noise I'm going to making.”

Flint nipped at his collarbone. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Oh my god, shut up. The more you try to annoy me, the more I want you.”

Flint kissed him again, stealing his breath. Silver was about a minute away from giving up on his dreams of getting fucked in a bed and just climbing Flint like a tree. With a tortured groan, Flint finally peeled himself off of Silver. He pulled away, hands slowly sliding away from Silver’s hips. “Get out now, or we're never getting out.”

With a shove, Silver stumbled out of the shower, the curtain sticking wetly to his side. Flint followed on his heels. 

A fluffy towel smacked Silver in the face. He grinned as he hurriedly dried off. “Such nice towels. I didn't take you for such a hedonist.”

Flint glared at him. “You just don't ever stop, do you?”

“Never.” Silver winked salaciously.

Flint chuckled and shoved him out the door. Stepping out of the warm, steamy bathroom into the chiller air of the hall was abrupt and sobering. For a moment, Silver felt terribly vulnerable and at a loss. What did he think he was doing? Fucking his mercurial boss, weaseling his way into Flint’s _house_? This was all clearly a fucking terrible idea.

A warm hand touched his waist and a hot kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. “Bedroom’s the door on the left.” There was an implicit out offered in that, and Silver hated that Flint knew he had needed one. Fuck that. John Silver always got what he wanted; he wasn't going to let a moment of indecision get in his way.

He spun in Flint’s arms and dragged his hands down his chest. “Which door’s the dry goods locker?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Flint said, laughing. 

They stumbled down the hallway, Silver trying to keep his hands to himself and failing.

Silver had time to catch a few impressions of the room: a night table stacked with books, an obsessively neat closet. Flint pushed him down on the neatly made bed and stared down at him for a long moment, hand tangled in Silver’s damp curls, eyes dark and lips unexpectedly soft. Christ, but Silver must have something truly wonderful or truly terrible in a past life to deserve this. Flint used the hold on his hair to drag him into a bruising kiss and followed him down to the bed.

Silver slithered up the bed, trying to shove down the blankets. No use, the bed was made too tightly. “Who the hell taught you to make a bed anyway?”

Flint glared. “The Navy.”

“Ah,” Silver said. Right, Flint had been drummed out of the navy for being gay. Probably not the best topic of conversation. Silver opened his mouth to apologize; Flint sighed in exasperation and shut him up in the best way. Pulling away from his mouth, Flint shoved him away and ripped down the sheets with a practiced, brutal movement, tumbling Silver against the pillows. 

Flint pressed Silver into the sheets with a bruising kiss. Silver tangled his arms around him and dragged him down. Flint groaned and rutted against him, the hot drag of their skin. Silver ran his hands down his back, the smooth ridges of scars beneath his fingertips. 

Flint reared back, balancing on his knees between Silver’s legs. He scrabbled at the bedside table, knocking a couple books to the floor with dull thuds. Silver bit back a chuckle; Flint was never clumsy in the kitchen. Silver liked being able to reduce him to this. Flint yanked open the drawer, pulled out lube and a condom. “Turn over,” he growled, yanking at Silver’s hips.

Silver flopped over. “Yes, sir,” he purred. 

Flint kissed down his spine, rubbing his beard idly over the small of Silver’s back. He nipped sharply at the divots at the base of his spine. Silver shivered and arched back into him. Flint pulled Silver up to his hands and knees, hands lingering. He trailed slow fingertips up the inside of Silver’s thighs. Silver gasped, the muscles of his legs jumping. 

Flint parted his cheeks, a thumb running down the crevice and dipping in. Silver squirmed. He was still achy and sensitive from earlier, but there was nothing more he wanted more than Flint inside him again.

“You're still loose,” Flint said with a hint of wonder.

“Well, _someone_ finger fucked me within an inch of my life this morning, so I guess that’s their fault.”

“I like it,” Flint rumbled possessively.

“You would, wouldn't you?”

There was the pop of the lube opening behind him, and then one of Flint’s long-boned fingers was sliding into him, cool and wet. Silver bit back a curse, feeling himself flutter around the intrusion. Flint groaned roughly against the skin of his waist, sinking another finger into him.

Silver arched back as Flint thrust into him, slow and stretching. It ached, felt too good to last, felt like not nearly enough.

He blurred a moan into his bicep. “I’ve been waiting for you all day. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Flint hummed, lips pressed to the dip of his spine. “That almost makes me want to make you wait longer.” His fingers slowed, pressed into him deliberate and punishing. “See if I can’t get you to beg for me.”

“Oh, I’ll beg all right. I’ve a very low tolerance for torture.”

Flint harrumphed a laugh. “That takes all the fun out of it.”

Silver bucked, throwing a hand back to catch at Flint’s unruly hair. “That’s not the fun part,” he growled. 

He could feel the edges of Flint’s grin against his skin. “Point taken,” he said. He pulled out, slow and aching, and Silver squirmed with the loss. 

The condom wrapper crinkled and Flint’s breath hitched as he rolled it on. Body-warmed latex rubbed against Silver’s hole and Flint pressed slowly into him. Silver moaned and clenched, his head lolling down between his tensed arms.

“Even when you’re not talking, you’re still making noise,” Flint gritted out between his teeth.

Silver swallowed as Flint pressed another inch into him. “You--ah, you seem to be really stuck on this one topic,” he managed. It was a little hard to maintain coherency when Flint was pressing into him in short, shallow thrusts, but he’d be damned if he let Flint have the last word.

“I can talk about other things if you like.”

“Uh-huh. Like what?”

“All sorts of things.” Flint stroked a hand down Silver’s spine, fingertips caressing where their flesh connected. Silver jerked and groaned helplessly. “Philosophy, naval tactics, the history of Nassau. Take your pick.” He bottomed out, finally, every inch of their bodies pressed together.

Silver threw an arm back and gripped bruisingly at Flint’s hip. “Or you could just _fuck me_.”

Flint leaned forward, his forehead pressed between Silver’s shoulder blades. “Or that,” he conceded. He kissed a wet, open mark to the skin there and then reared back.

The first real thrust was hard and deep and perfect. Silver cried out, rocking forward on his knees. He shoved back, desperate for more. Flint gave it to him, fucking into him with deep, hard thrusts. One of Flint’s hands fell to his spine, the other wrapped around his hip, pulling him back into Flint’s controlled rhythm.

“Yes,” Silver sighed happily. “I've been thinking about this all day.”

Flint made an aggrieved noise. He dropped his chest to Silver’s back and wrapped an arm around his chest. He reared back, taking Silver with him, so that they were both kneeling. Silver cried out at the change in angle, his head rocking back onto Flint’s shoulder. Flint pressed a stifling hand against his mouth and fucked up into him.

Silver groaned around the hand, loving the brusque treatment. He opened his mouth, sucked at Flint’s fingertips as they pressed against his lips. He could feel Flint’s intake of breath against his neck. He grinned and grabbed at Flint’s wrist, sucking his fingers deeper into his mouth. He moaned wetly, nipping and sucking at calloused fingertips.

“God,” Flint said with aching wonder, “you’re so--” The slide of his hands down Silver’s chest saying the rest. Infuriating? Mouthy? Sexy? Silver wanted to add. Flint nipped sharply at Silver’s neck. “I want you to remember this every time you think about smirking at me.” He bit at Silver’s earlobe, drawing it sharply into his mouth. “How I’m going to make you scream my name.” 

Silver pulled Flint’s hand from his mouth. “I’m not really sure that’s much of a deterrent,” he chuckled. “For me or for you. Now every time you yell at me, you’re going to be thinking about this.” Silver rolled his hips and clenched around him. 

Flint groaned, raw and ruined. “God, fuck.” He shoved Silver down, face first into the pillows. He plowed into him like he had something to prove. Silver groaned, feeling like the sound shook up from his foundations. There was nothing he could do but _take_ it, and it was fantastic. 

Flint’s mouth pressed hot and open against the back of his neck, breath heavy and labored. He roughly shoved one of Silver’s thighs higher up the mattress, changing the angle. Silver bit back a wail as every demanding thrust drilled into his prostate. He felt like an exposed nerve, every part of him vulnerable and singing. 

He squirmed and tried to shove back into every thrust of Flint’s hips. Flint made a frustrated noise; he pressed a hand between Silver’s shoulders, holding him down, while his other hand controlled the movement of Silver’s hips. God, but that was so fucking good, Flint effortlessly holding him down and having his way with him. With that kind of manhandling, he wasn’t going to last long. Silver huffed out a heaving gasp at every thrust.

Silver snuck a hand beneath him, the first touch of his hand on himself like an electric current down his spine. He bucked, hard enough that Flint had to make an effort to hold him still. Flint groaned and lost his rhythm for a moment, fucking into him hard and mindless. Silver moaned and writhed under Flint’s touch, pushing back, desperate for that little bit extra that would send him over the edge. 

Flint groaned breathlessly and pulled Silver’s hand out from underneath him, the incidental brush of his fingertips on Silver’s cock blisteringly good. Silver whined as the touch retreated. He was close, so close.

“Just like this,” Flint growled and fucked him harder, angling every thrust to leave him breathless and writhing. “I’m all you need.”

Silver laughed and moaned, all in the same breath. “Jesus Christ, that was fucking terrible,” he choked out.

Flint twisted his hand in Silver’s hair and yanked. Silver yelped in surprise and came all over himself. It slammed into him like a punch in the jaw, hard and unexpected, leaving a lovely ache and blurred vision. 

Flint groaned, thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering to a stop as he buried himself in Silver as deep as he could get. He came in a rush of wet heat, muffling a low, throbbing moan against the side of his neck. 

Silver wrapped a hand around the back of Flint’s neck and let them collapse into the bed. They lay entangled; Flint’s weight forcing his labored breath to come in pants, but SIlver loved the way it grounded him. With an aggrieved groan, Flint finally boosted himself up on his elbows and rolled away. They both moaned as he slipped out. They panted, not touching but still entwined. 

Silver turned his head to look at Flint, admiring the flush to his cheeks and the wildness to his eyes. “That was--that was--honestly, as amazing as I was expecting.”

Flint chuckled. “There’s no need for flattery.”

“Perfectly honest. No need for flattery after you’ve already fucked me.” He hummed and writhed, feeling pleasure sink low in his bones and seep under his skin. “And you fucked me good.”

Flint harrumphed and ignored him, rolling off the bed. He stood and wandered down the hall. Silver took the moment to admire his bare ass. Flint reappeared with a wet towel from the bathroom. He straddled Silver’s thighs and flipped him on to his back. And God, nothing should turn him on after the fuck he’d just had, but his dick made a valiant effort to twitch to attention. Flint smirked down at him and wiped him down, the slow glide of his hands making the clean up something languorous and intimate. Silver went boneless under him, arching into every touch. His skin buzzed with electricity, energy running through him. God, he hoped Flint let him stay; he could definitely stand to go again in a couple hours. Flint was making him insatiable.

“So what’s the plan?” Silver asked as Flint flopped down next to him. 

“Plan?”

“Yes. Do I need to find my clothes and walk-of-shame my way out of here, or can that wait until morning?”

“Are you seriously asking that now?” Flint scrubbed a hand over his eyes and Silver was suddenly reminded that Flint had just finished a twelve hour shift. 

“I just want to know where we stand.”

Flint sighed and smacked a pillow into Silver’s face. “Just shut the fuck up and I won’t toss you out.” He turned on to his side, burrowing into the sheets.

Silver grinned in triumph. He cuddled up behind Flint, fitting the bends of their bodies together. “Nighty night,” he murmured into the nape of his neck. Flint growled but didn’t push him off. 

Victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic contains a historical inaccuracy! Flint was drummed out of the Navy for being gay, but that hasn't been a legal practice in Britain since 2000.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumbr](http://tessykinswritesthings.tumblr.com)


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